


Goodbye, Brother

by buttcat



Series: the one where dean is a pushover and sam is fcuking crazy [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, PWP, SERIOUSLY GUYS NONCON, i am so ashamed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-14
Updated: 2014-09-14
Packaged: 2018-02-17 10:41:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2306768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buttcat/pseuds/buttcat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a pack of Hellhounds scratching at the back door and there's shit-all they can do about it. Dean's gonna die, that's it, the end, no matter what, and Sam's gonna have to sit and watch the whole thing since he's the genius who couldn't figure out how to save him. Might as well go out with a bang.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Goodbye, Brother

**Author's Note:**

> this is about as pwp-y as it gets, folks

A heavy book thuds against the mattress next to Dean's head. 

" _Dude,"_ he says, burying his face into the thin motel pillow. "Let a dying man get some rest."

"Dean," Sam says, sorta choked-up and rough. "There's nothing. I can't find anything, _fuck_. Fuck, Dean - there's nothing, and now you're gonna - "  

He's crying, Dean realizes, and he's getting that nauseating hopeless twinge in his gut he gets every time he sees his baby brother cry. Dignity is a lost cause at this point.

"C'mere, sasquatch," Dean grunts, shifting over in the bed. Socked feet shuffle across the carpet, two points of pressure lean into the mattress, and then his brother's strangled, wet breathing is right up in his face.

"I dunno what to do, Dean," Sam says, his moist breath ghosting over Dean's forehead. Dean resists the urge to crinkle up his nose at the smell because he's the best brother ever and he needs to be comforting or some shit.

"S'not on you, Sammy," Dean says. "I made the deal, I'm gonna see it through."

 "You shouldn'tve - . I don't wanna lose you, Dean," Sam whimpers. His arm comes up slow, trailing over Dean's side and Jesus Christ what a giant baby the guy is, but Dean lets him because it _is_ basically his last night on Earth. The arm wraps around to Dean's back and a huge paw clutches in between his shoulder blades.

"It'll be okay," Dean says, and Sam lets out a little cut-off wail. _Man_ , he sucks at comforting people. Sam was always the HR portion of their team. 

"It's not gonna be  _okay,_ Dean. You're going to Hell."

The kid has a point, but damned if Dean'll let him wallow in his misery. "I don't care, dude. You're safe, Sam, okay? That's what matters - that's what makes all this shit worth it. And hey, I'm not in Hell yet, right?"

"Yeah," Sam says, and now his hot, gross breath is right over Dean's mouth, and _okay,_ whoa there, buddy. Dean squints his eyes open and yep, there's Sam's big dumb face hardly inches from his own, his eyes wet and glistening and full and  _goddammit,_ he could never say no to Sam when he was like this.  

"I don't wanna - I can't lose you," Sam says, and then  _holy shit whoa his lips are on Dean's and his tongue -_

"Um," Dean says. Sam looks about as stunned as he feels. 

"Shit, I - sorry, man - " he's saying, except after he leans in and kisses him again, slick and open-mouthed and sloppy, tongue lapping at the corners of Dean's mouth like he's trying to press him open and pliant. "Please, Dean, please," he begs between messy kisses, "please," and Dean gives in and lets his mouth fall open because Jesus, if this is the kind of comfort his brother needs, who's he to say no. He's going to Hell anyway.

Sam moans contentedly and his tongue worms into Dean's mouth, pressing frantic at his palate, his teeth, his cheeks. Sam is a pretty shitty kisser, too desperate and anxious to be properly sensual, but Dean lets him take charge because he doesn't particularly want to, you know, kiss his brother. It's slobbery and not that great but Sam is making little happy noises like it's the best thing ever, like Dean's mouth is a goddamn ice-cream sundae with sprinkles and chocolate syrup and all that shit. Dean is actually pretty sure his mouth tastes like stale sleep and probably whiskey, since that's what he had for dinner, but Sam's fucking loving it.

Sam sucks at his lower lip and swipes it with his tongue and lets it slip out of his mouth with a wet pop and the hand he'd been resting between Dean's shoulder blades comes up and palms the back of his neck, thumb stroking at his jaw. Dean's about ready to pull back and say  _all right, that's enough, I'm gonna sleep now, you weirdo,_ only Sam cants his hips up into Dean's and outright whimpers and all Dean can say is "uh", because that's his brother's hard-on nudging thick and insistent against his thigh.

"Dean, _please,"_ Sam begs. "Please, let me - I wanna - ." He ducks down and starts worrying at Dean's neck, sucking and licking and nuzzling his way down to his collarbone, nudging his dick up against Dean's thigh in short, impatient jerks. His hair's pressed up on Dean's mouth and nose and it's got that unwashed greasy Sam-smell it acquires after a few days on the road sans-shower. It smells like the Impala and two beds in a motel and a bag full of mostly-dirty clothes and an infinite number of unnamed, identical truck-stop diners with halogen lights and sticky counters and this is Dean's brother at his neck, who he'd sold his soul for, who in 24 hours he's never going to see in the flesh again.

"Yeah, all right, Sam," Dean says, shutting his eyes, "c'mon, Sammy," and Sam surges up and mauls Dean's mouth. He urges him onto his back so that it's Sam leaning over him huge and heavy, Sam's knees bracketing his thighs, Sam's giant hands slipping underneath the hem of his shirt and up and down his bare sides. Dean's only in his boxers and a worn t-shirt and he feels already practically naked, especially with Sam in his jeans.        

"Fuck, Dean, yes," Sam's saying, and one of his hands is skating down between Dean's legs to rub and grope, and fuck his traitorous dick, because even though it's his goddamn baby brother all the pressure and friction down there is starting to perk him up. Sam's grinning and panting like he's won a goddamned marathon. "Christ, Dean, I can feel you," Sam's babbling, trying to get his hand around Dean's dick through his boxers, which of course doesn't really work but Sam's sure putting up a good effort. "Fuck," Sam says. "Getting hard for me - always such a goddamn slut, so desperate - "   

His other hand goes up to Dean's chest to pluck at his nipples, pinch and squeeze and tease and thumb, and, well, he's always had sensitive nipples. Dean can't fucking help but jerk up into Sam's touch, search out more of that terrible, amazing, disgusting pressure. He's probably never hated himself more than he does right now, squirming and heaving underneath Sam like he can't stop himself, fucking getting off against his brother. He deserves Hell.  

"Turn over for me," Sam says, nudging at his side, and Dean does. He deserves this, too, his brother pulling off his shirt, rubbing against him, using him. His brother is licking his bare neck and he's hard and he's pushing into the mattress because it feels good, because his brother's not wearing a shirt anymore either, because he misses feeling the kid's fingers pinch his nipples. _I am a fucking asshole,_ he thinks, and lets Sammy grope his ass.   

Sam's licking turns suddenly into biting, his teeth sinking into the curve where Dean's neck meets his shoulder. Dean lets out a horrified squeak. Guy's got a serious pair of chompers on him.  

"Like that, huh?" Sam says low in his throat. "You like it when I get rough?"

"S-sam," Dean says, and it sounds wrecked and scared and not at all like him, and it makes Sam chuckle wickedly against his shoulder. His bare chest is pressed against the full length of Dean's back and he's sweaty and hot and nasty and Dean could shake him off but he doesn't, because he's trash. 

"Don't worry, sweetheart, I'm gonna take care of you," Sam says, and he's gnawing at Dean's back again, teeth grinding and pressing at his skin. He tugs down Dean's boxers and Christ, there's that last barrier, gone, and he's bare and ashamed underneath his brother.

 

"Let me see you," Sam whispers, and urges Dean's knees up and wide so he's got himself spread open into the cold air. He's blushing, goddammit, like a virgin on prom night, red spreading high in his cheeks and down his chest, and he tries to pull his legs together and hide but his brother's got his knees in between his and he can't really move. Sam palms his ass, spreads him wider, blows out a mouthful of air. "Jesus, Dean, I wish you could see yourself," he growls. He's kneading Dean's ass in his hands, pulling and pressing. "So tiny - fuck, so fucking tiny, and you're twitching, too, so hungry for it - I wanna see you stretched out around me, God, I wanna just press into you -"

One of Sam's hands falls away and he hears a zipper, a rustle, and hey, there's Sam's cock, rubbing up and down between the cheeks of his ass, pressing over his hole. He can feel how goddamn huge it is, long and thick, and for a heart-stopping moment he thinks _he's really gonna do it, isn't he, he's gonna fuck me raw, shove that fucking thing right in without spit or anything and just go to town_ \- except thank Christ, Sam twists over to the side and there's the click of a cap opening up and two long, cold, wet fingers stroke up from his balls to the bottom of his rim. Those fingers are pressing against him, circling around him, not  _quite_ yet breaching him and it makes him twitch and shudder, sick shame twisting his stomach into knots, his baby brother touching him like that.

Sam's fingers slip into him, not too far but enough, and he grunts and jerks away at the same time Sam gasps and presses forward. It fucking hurts, taking both of them at once, it's too solid and too thick and just too much. He tries to make himself relax but he can't because Sam's still pushing into him, slow but not slow enough, pressing down until the last knuckle and it feels wrong, wrong, wrong.  

"Holy shit, Dean," Sam breathes, his voice full of awe. He starts to pump his fingers in and out, rough, excited jabs that pulse through Dean's insides. "You're taking me, just like that. Feels like you're sucking me in, fuck, _Dean,_ you're so fucking soft - ." He slides in another finger without warning, hand working in and out, and Dean yelps. Jesus Christ Sam's got big fingers, fucking huge, like sausages or something. He feels like he's going to split open around them, tear and break, no way he could fit any more inside him. He's aching and sore and it only gets worse the longer those fingers are poking around in there, forcing him wide.     

"Dean, I can't - I can't wait any longer, I gotta be inside you. I gotta fuck you, Dean," Sam says, and tears his fingers out and away. Dean bites down on a whimper and turns his face into the pillow. It's damp, he realizes, and a whole new round of shame and self-loathing roils through him. He'd been crying. He was so, so pathetic.

Sam's hands grasp his hips and hold him firmly in place on the bed, and the swollen head of his cock nudges against him, slimy and cold with lotion. Sam's holding him open with his palms and pressing against him and Dean's quietly panicking, remembering the feel of Sam's fingers in him and knowing _there's no way, there's no fucking way,_ and Sam's cock catches on the lip of his ring and slides up and that's it, he's inside. Not even an inch of him, just the fat, spongy head of his dick, and Dean already feels like he's been ripped apart. He tries to scrabble up the bed but Sam's got him held down tight and all he can do is scratch at the sheets, Sam pushing and pushing and grunting and gasping above him, tearing him apart and making his own room because Dean hasn't got enough to begin with. His dick's totally given up, dangling limp and sad between his legs, and hey, at least he's not sick enough to get off on _this._ He thinks he's going to burst open and Sam's still shoving forward into him because Jesus Christ if he isn't a big motherfucker.       

"Fuck, God - fucking shit, Dean," Sam bites off. There's more of him to go - Dean can't quite feel his hips pressed up against him yet- but Sam's taken pause, his thighs shaking with the stress. Sam sitting still inside him isn't as bad as Sam ripping through him, so Dean takes a couple of conciliatory breaths. Hot hurt radiates upward from his spine every time either of them shifts. 

Sam leans over him until his naked chest, wet with sweat, is pressed right up against Dean's back. His brother is sticky and hot and damp and all around him, caging him in, keeping him pinned down."Christ, Dean," Sam says. "You're so fucking tight. I can't - . If I move, I'll fucking blow, that's how good you feel," Sam says.

Dean shoves himself back, then, forcing the last bit of Sam's cock down into him, pressing through the hurt and the sting because _God yes please Sam just come and get off me_.

Sam makes a noise that's half-chuckle, half-gasp. "Want it that bad, huh? Want me to fill you up? You're always so fucking impatient," he says fondly, and then he's ripping out of Dean's body and right back in again, splitting Dean raw.

Dean's been stabbed and burned and strangled and thrown into a variety of hard surfaces but none of it quite measures up to this particular intimate, humiliating pain, pulsing and building up and ruining him from the inside out. He knows he's keening quietly and he can't stop himself, can't help but to react to the searing jolt that slams up his spine every time Sam fucks into him. At least he's not crying anymore.              

"Wanted this for - so fucking long, you don't even  _know,_ Jesus," Sam's saying above him. "Fuck, Dean, you feel so good - so hot -"  

It hurts a little less, the press in, the long drag out, and he wonders if maybe he's bleeding a little. It feels like he should be, feels like Sam's torn him up real good. Fucking thank Christ he's going to Hell tomorrow, because imagine going to a hospital about _that._

_Excuse me, sir, but my little brother's fucked me raw and it sorta chafes. Could you kindly sew up my ass?_

_Do they sew up shit like that?_ Dean wonders as Sam digs his fingers into his hips and pushes into him deep. It's not the same thing as, like, when a werewolf gets you with its claws. It's all pretty delicate down there, isn't it? He imagines a Nurse Ratched-wannabe brandishing a needle near his balls and gives a full-bodied shudder.

"Oh fuck, Dean, that feel good? Right there, huh? You -  _shit -_ you like it when I fuck you like that?"

Sam's speeding up, jerky and a little desperate. He's fucking into Dean fast and wild and careless, pushing him forward into the head of the bed, searing him inside. Dean bites his lip - bites _through_ his lip, fuck, now there's thick coppery blood in his mouth - and braces himself best he can.

Sam's chanting _God, God, fuck, Dean_ and his breathing's gone heavy and he gives one last full thrust, hunches over, presses Dean's face into the pillow with a giant hand. Dean can't breathe and Sam's grinding his hips into him in little circles, and Dean can _feel_ his cock twitching and jolting inside him and oh, Sam's coming, warm and wet and hot and in him. This more than anything makes Dean's stomach flip unpleasantly but he can't do much about it, because Sam's still jerking his hips into him and making happy little noises and keeping Dean's face crushed against the pillow so that he's sucking in cotton.

Finally Sam quits moving and his hand eases off Dean's head so he can jerk up for air. He's glad to fill his lungs but it smells like sweat and Sam and semen and his lip is still bleeding. 

"Holy shit, Dean, that was - . Holy shit," Sam says, and pulls out of him wetly. This also stings, except Dean's so fucking exhausted and ruined he doesn't react at all. He feels torn open and disgusting and he hates himself. Let the damn Hellhounds come, let them all come, every shit-ass demon they've ever tangled with, let them drag him far enough away so he never hurts his younger brother again.

"Oh, hey," Sam says, and he tries to paw underneath Dean's belly, long fingers searching for his flaccid dick. "Let me - "

Dean slaps him away. "Nuh-uh," he grunts. "'M good."          

"Fuck - " Sam says, reverent, and falls back on his thighs. "I didn't even have to touch you, did I, Christ." 

Dean can't look at him. "Lemme clean up," he says. He slides out of the bed. 

"Mmkay," Sam sighs, and shuffles himself underneath the covers. 

In the bathroom he wipes his brother from between his thighs with a wet washcloth, then rinses out the semen and blood in the sink, so Sam won't find it in the morning and worry. He washes his face, scrubs away the tear tracks and the red crust on his chin from his lip, stuffs soft toilet paper into his boxer shorts just in case he bleeds during the night. God but does he look like shit, he notes. He's got bruises on his thighs and shoulders and a livid bite mark on his neck. It's not enough. He wants to tear himself apart.  

He limps back into the room.

Sam grabs him as soon as he's within grabbing range. "Cm'ere," he says, and pulls him down onto the bed. He settles his long arms about Dean's waist and pulls his back into his broad chest.  

"Love you so much, Dean," Sam says sleepily into the back of Dean's neck. 

"Love you too, Sammy," Dean says, because he does. 


End file.
